


So Comes Snow After Fire

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Legends, M/M, POV First Person, Post-War of the Ring, Reunions, Smut, Stream of Consciousness, almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: After the latest campaign, Aragorn comes home finally. As the morning rises, he ponders his relationship with Faramir, until his lover comes in. Fluff ensues.





	So Comes Snow After Fire

**Author's Note:**

> MermaidSheenaz eyed it up and down and deemed it okay to post, but if there is some remaining grammar/typo trouble, it's entirely on me. 
> 
> I seem to have come to like writing in the First POV... expect more in the future. 
> 
> Enjoy!

I wake up to the harsh light spilling through the half-opened curtains. ‘Tis a new day already, bright and beautiful, ripe with undistributed potential… and yet it seems gloomy, for the spot beside me is empty. 

I turn to it, swim in the feathery ocean of fluffy pillows and thick covers -  your gray blanket has found its way here, also, tangled innocently with the fur-lined coverlet I have brought from Imladris. I take a measure of comfort in this union, in the leaf-like greens and grays like thundering skies. They are all soft beneath my fingers as they rasp over the surface, the war-won roughness of my skin catching on stray threads, so very different than the shivering skin they normally travel. 

But the gentleness is there, the whisper-low susurrus that soothes my overactive brain. I move closer, migrating, until I can push my face into your pillow and breathe - just breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale again. My nose is full of your scent, that sweet and familiar mixture which always brings me home, no matter where I am. 

Do you know, dear heart, that I stole one of your shirts? Aye, a thief I am, but I can explain myself at least. It was right before the last campaign, the one from which I had the potential of not coming back. I knew it was going to be hard and hazardous, and I knew that it would be even more difficult for the lack of you.  I took your shirt - by accident, a decent man would say, would try to wash his sins - but I am not a decent man, Faramir. I took your shirt, because I knew I would be missing you desperately, and I was right to do it, too. 

When I returned, with my shoulder already healing and decidedly arrow-free, I could not fall into your embrace fast enough, nor stay in the safe fort of your arms for long enough. You saw me cringe when you squeezed me too hard, when those safe arms of yours became too eager…  Oh yes, it hurt a bit, but what is a little pain compared to two months without you? That shirt stopped carrying your scent after the first week. I was desolate! I wanted to turn back and forget about the bloody war! Come back to Minas Tirith, stride into the citadel and demand a kiss from you… I had to be reasonable, however, and had to content myself with the softness of the material under my cheek when I slept. I am glad that I had forbidden anyone coming into my tent without my explicit permission, too - imagine how the soldiers would have laughed, seeing their king covering like a child, curled around a meager cloth, clinging to it like a man drowning! 

I have already returned it to your wardrobe, and there it will stay until another battle calls and I need a little courage in the field. I know you won’t wear it unprompted - it has a few tears in it. Aye, they are my fault, too, for I refused to leave it behind and had to pack it up in haste a few times. I mended the holes, carefully, with as much skill as I could muster… Elrond would be proud of me if he saw it, I reckon. But you are far too meticulous to wear something like this for a meeting with our high lords from Eru knows where… 

Oh, how I missed sitting at council meetings with you! My gentle steward, my brilliant prince! I do wonder where you are right now! Are you taking a bath? I don’t think so… I strain my ears and fall utterly still, listening intently, but there is no splash of water in the bathing chamber, and I know that you like to submerge yourself fully to wash your hair. Maybe you are walking in the gardens, then? Watching over those rose bushes you have planted with our Elven friend? You need not worry about your precious flowers, love, Legolas assured me that they will survive winter just fine. You will see - come spring, they will welcome you with fresh leaves in all shades of green! 

Or maybe… maybe you are in the kitchens? Maybe you’re engrossed in a conversation with Idris or Ioreth, laughing about  how unkingly I look in the morning every time the girls come carrying food to my study, encountering me with only half of my head functioning, with my hair in disarray and my dressing gown turned inside-out, wrapped messily about me? Ah, how I missed your smile upon seeing me in such a state!  There is no time for lounging in war, as you well know. On the Harad border, I went to sleep fully clothed and woke up thus, if I managed to sleep at all. Here, in the peacefulness of the royal wing, in the privacy of our bedchamber, I can parade around completely bare only to make you chuckle merrily and throw the nearest item you have at hand at my head. Although, I have to admit, hurling that inkwell was not the brightest of your ideas, dear heart. 

I wonder what would you do if you walked in now? I am naked under that tangle of covers, as you well know. I have never put anything on since you tore my clothes off me yesterday evening. Would you push me down onto the bed like you did just a few hours ago?  Please, my wonderful prince, please  _ do! _ But lose that worried look in your gaze - my shoulder really is doing just fine, and my eyes are misty from happiness, not pain! I never feel pain when I’m with you...

Have I ever told you that you have an almost magical energy about you? Maybe it is the Numenorean blood inside your veins,  or maybe it is just your good heart, my kind love… I think we should ask Mithrandir when he visits. Whatever it is, however, it makes me feel young and alive! All my hurts disappear and - I  _ swear  _ \- I can feel my wounds healing faster than they would on an Elf! Aye, you are magical, my dear, a true descendant of the Valar themselves! 

Where are you, love? Have you disappeared off to the library again? I hope not -  this king is not above being jealous over old books and moth-infested tomes! 

I shift on the bed when a cold draft sneaks up my thigh, making me shiver. I move restlessly, until I find a spot where I can settle down finally. Not surprisingly, it is your favorite place. Through eyes squinted against the glaring shine of Anor, I see a solitary, copper-colored hair on your pillow. It lies there innocently, gleaming merrily, and I smash my nose against it, hoping it was your neck instead. I close my eyes again, nuzzle into the soft linen and breathe deeply. Your scent is stronger here, hyacinths and lavender, a bit of your musk and sweat, something sweet and sharp… 

There is a quiet whine of the old hinges and I fall still for a brief second. Footsteps shuffle quietly, your bare feet padding on the floor and I almost want to shout at you for ignoring my pleas of you wearing shoes inside to isolate your precious skin from the harsh stone. One day I will put furs all over this floor, just so your feet are not at risk of becoming too cold! 

You come close to the bed and I turn around finally, opening my eyes and focusing on you. So beautiful, dear heart! You are so beautiful, all the air leaves my lungs in a wild rush… You are dressed only in a plain white shirt and a pair of dark leggings, and yet I cannot tear my gaze away from you. Turning your head, your eyes meet mine, and you smile, sitting on the edge of the mattress, making it dip slightly under your weight. I would have you lie down on  _ me, _ feel that sweet weight over my own chilled body, those archers's shoulders resting on my chest as I combed my fingers through your sunlit hair, glittering more beautifully than all the gold in the royal vaults… 

“Forgive me, I didn’t intend to wake you,” you mutter quietly, almost as if the manner of speaking the words would put me back into undisturbed sleep. I shake my head dismissively, reaching out and placing my hand on your knee - somehow this contact is very important, but it is far too early for me to try and dissect the  _ why’s _ and  _ how’s _ of it.    
“I wasn’t asleep,” I assure you, and your smile widens. I cannot stop watching you, drinking you in after two months of cuddling to the memories of you and that damned shirt I stole. 

“Have you been up for long?” I ask instead of thinking about my own longing. You wave my concerns away with an elegant sway of your hand, leaning forward and lifting something from the ground. I look, intrigued, as you produce a steaming cup and bring it to me.    
“Only for about an hour,” you say, as I incline my head to the side, peeking over the edge of the bed. There is a whole tray bearing a pot, another cup, and a few pieces of bread and cheese. “I thought you may be hungry after such a long ride yesterday,” you continue, and I take the offered cup, seeping the hot beverage. 

It warms me up quickly, the smell of jasmine clinging to my tongue, and I cannot help the way my eyes widen in astonishment. Dried petals used for such an aromatic tea could be found only in Imladris. You must have read the question in my surprised gaze, for you chuckle quietly, bringing the other cup up and taking a sip.    
“Lord Elrond has sent over some goods a little more than a month ago. There are two letters from him to you also, but they can wait for when you feel sufficiently rested. He told me that he would remain in Rivendell for a few years more and that he would visit when spring came and the snow no longer blocked the roads.”    
“What would I do without you, my dear steward?” I think aloud, hoping to convey just how much you mean to me. “This king would be utterly lost if it hadn’t been for your organizing skills!” 

And there it is, that faint blush pinking your cheeks, tender like the rest of you, even when you try to cover it up during the days spent in court. Sometimes it’s like an armor - your wise words and your quick tongue. You have enough skill with weapons and you have proved yourself a capable soldier time and time again and - I am certain - nobody would dare to question you unless there was a real reason to do so… Not that you give people many reasons to do that. I know just how much work you put into everything you do, I know how much research precedes everything you propose at the council meetings. There is no reason to doubt your proposals… and yet, you always steel yourself for the worst, dressing in your dark blue finery, holding books as I would a sword, wielding their ancient knowledge with deadly accuracy. 

I still remember that time you managed to shut lord Barador up. It was spectacular, dear heart! Your eyes were ablaze, your back straight and your shoulders twitching with anger. Or was that incredulity at what he had proposed? I couldn’t tell then and I cannot tell now still, for all my mind focused on in that moment was how truly beautiful you appeared. 

Just like now, smiling into your cup, casting your gaze down when you realize that I’m watching you intently. Do you realize how much I love you?  Are you aware of the whole extent and depth of that unstoppable, wild feeling that is encompassing my whole being? Aye, I think after yesterday’s night half of Minas Tirith must know about it…  I do admit I was exceptionally loud, but, my love, that was only your fault - you know I cannot keep my mouth shut when you do that thing with your tongue which you do so well… 

Aye! Minas Tirith seems sufficiently informed. But what about the rest of Gondor? Do people know who puts that smile on my face? Do they know who keeps me from grabbing Andúril when they feel the need to come to me with the most trivial of problems they could as well solve by themselves? Do they know who gives me all those interesting ideas about opening the library to the common folk, or about establishing trading posts in the right spots? I think they should all be reminded about your greatness daily… Maybe I should make you a statue? Hire some poor mason to chisel it in white marble and make his life miserable by hanging around to keep the details just right? 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask me, your voice as soft as the blankets wrapped around me. I shuffle back on the bed, make some more space for you. You shift just a bit, turning to look at me fully.    
“Statues.” And my answer confuses you, your eyebrows creasing in a frown. I would kiss it away if I could, but  you have pushed a cup of jasmine tea into my hand, and I would rather die than get rid of anything you’ve given me. So I smile, sip on, and wait for you to process my words.    
“What statues?” Inevitably, you ask again. I cannot help the grin that indicates my amusement - it is a silly matter, and surely you must know it by now. I must look like the love-sick fool I am, surely…    
“Well…  _ One _ statue, actually,” I correct. Your frown deepens, and I endeavor to drink my tea quicker. 

I cannot wait to kiss you… Has it been only yesterday when we kissed last? Aye, I think it has… I do admit to stealing one tiny kiss from you in the night, though. I refuse to be sorry about it, also, for you looked like one of the Valar themselves. Your hair was illuminated by Ithil’s soft glow, and your face lied half in the shadows, and your lips were so irresistibly inviting…  A thief, once again, guilty I remain but unrepentant. I have missed kissing you, love, and I admit fully to that. I missed the way I can make you gasp and moan quietly, almost as if the fire we create within our bodies is a wild animal, easily spooked and meant to be approached quietly. I adore the way you blush, the way the pink hue spreads down from your cheeks and towards your chest. I can use my mouth to achieve that, wriggle my tongue or slide my lips over your trembling flesh. I can use words, too. It has always fascinated me how you react to them. You are so proper when we slip into our respective roles, and yet,  when the night falls, a few crude words make you hotter the furnaces in Erebor. 

Would you like that? Would you have me begging you in uncouth words, sounding like a desperate wife taunting a secret lover? Would you have me use words even the filthiest escorts shy away from? I would. I would whisper them to you, I would shout them out or choke on them in whimper…  Whatever you wish for, my dear, I would give to you. 

But, all this must wait. There is a matter I remembered suddenly, and if I spend the next hour thinking about rolling around in bed with you, I may forget about it indefinitely. I look around, trying to find my belongings, meager as they were during the campaign.    
“What is it?” You ask, worried, always eager to help me with whatever I require. I smile - can’t really help it around you.    
“Have you, by any chance, seen my traveling bag?” I inquire, finishing the tea, ready to crawl out of bed to look for it. But, before I can even move a muscle, you are nodding and standing up, reaching behind… ah, there it is!  You cast a disapproving glance at the mud stains on its side, an exasperation-filled remark about kings and not having to do all the dirty work anymore is already forming in your head. I can practically hear it! 

To stop the unnecessary words, I reach out and exchange the empty cup from my hand for the bag, opening it and digging inside. You set the cup aside and watch me curiously, finishing your own tea in the meantime. I have to shuffle around the contents for a moment, hoping that what I’m searching for had not gotten lost somewhere during my travel back home-  _ There!  _ At the bottom of the bag, wrapped in Harad silk, so soft beneath my fingers I almost missed it. I grab it and pull it out, tossing the bag aside and looking up at you. 

“I brought you something,” I explain, without actually explaining anything, and your eyebrows lift in surprise. You take the package from me with gentle hands, fingertips tentatively brushing over the delicate, blue material, and I practically hold my breath when I wait for you to open it. 

You see, love, when I bought it, I did not feel nervous at all. We had just signed the peace treaty with the Haradrim, and their king hoofed it back to his castle behind forests and hills. The merchants arrived on the next day, lured in by the prospect of selling us some goods, for they could finally do it without the fear of being slain by either of the parties. There were many fine goods, but they did not look like an appropriate gift for you… until someone brought up this dagger. I know you are first and foremost a skilled archer and that you prefer your bow to any other weapon, but I have seen you fight in close combat and I know that you will appreciate a good blade. I only hope it is to your liking… 

You smile slightly, fingers unwrapping the dagger carefully, your hands undoubtedly already knowing what they are holding. One more pass of the silk and, with tentative moves, you lift it above the piece of cloth. Your eyes widen, your lips parting to let out an astonished gasp, before your gaze flickers between my face and the weapon you’re holding.    
“It’s beautiful…” you murmur, fingertips trailing over the intricately carved handle. It is made from mumakil bone, and I tell you as much. You gasp again and stare at it, your thumb rubbing over the crescent moon portrayed on one side.    
“They wanted to sell me pearls and jewels, but I told them I already had my precious jewel…”  I say, like the love-struck fool I am, and you give me the look that says I’m getting dangerously close to being smacked over my head with the nearest pillow. Oh, how have I missed this! I go on, before you can grab something to hurl at me. 

“They thought there was a queen waiting somewhere for my return, so they came carrying silk and other materials… I was not sure about the gold threads woven into them, though, and I know that you prefer to wear the velvets from Ithilien far more than you like flimsy silk. They tried, though,  _ valiantly. _ One of them was ready to sell his own horse even, after I had turned around and petted him in greeting, because he had kept on nudging my shoulder with his head.”   
“Éomer would be devastated if you started bringing horses from somewhere else than Rohan,” you observe with a smirk, and I nod, grinning.    
“Aye! Thankfully, Halbarad helped with one of his usual, innocent comments -  _ Bring something for a warrior!” _ And you laugh, hearing that, knowing well that my dear friend has always had problems with keeping his tongue behind his teeth in such situations. You could torture him with fire and threaten his friends over the secrets of the kingdom, and he wouldn’t spill a word. Put him on a market, and he will announce to everyone that the king is madly in love with his prince! 

I want to assure you that I don’t think there will be a scandal brewing after such implications, but  you seem to read my mind in that magical way you always do . You shake your head dismissively, the smirk widening, and I feel myself falling in love with you a little more.    
“I think Halbarad doesn’t even know how well he aimed with that comment of his,” you mutter and I am instantly intrigued. Seeing my curiosity, you continue, lowering the dagger for the time being, resting it in the cradle of your bent legs. 

“There is an old legend that is still alive in Harad,” you say, and your eyes take on that glittering quality I was reminded about every time I closed my eyes in the past two months. With a nod of my head, I bid you to continue. “There was a king who fell in love not with a princess but with another king. They tried not to act on it, for they feared the reaction of their people. Lead by their duties, they found themselves women to marry. I do not know all the details, and I only remember the title one of those kings had - The Great Moon he was called. He had lost his wife to a disease and turned his eyes again into the direction of the other king, whose wife was still alive and, if the tales are true, conspiring against her husband..” 

You go on, telling me the story of how the nameless king was informed of an uprising in one of his fiefdoms and went out with his army. You shake your head again when you recall that the reports had been fabricated by the queen herself and that the king didn’t know of the trap he was walking into. And then you smile brilliantly when you say that part about the Great Moon following, warning the king and leading him through a secret passage in the mountains to show him the danger waiting for him and his soldiers. 

“What happened to the queen?” I ask, when you’re done talking about the battle that followed. You shrug.   
“She was cast out of the kingdom, forbidden to ever return.”   
“And the kings?” I cannot help but inquire, immensely enjoying listening to you. Especially when your tales are accompanied by such a brilliant smile, the likes of which you are wearing now.   
“Why, they lived happily ever after!”  
“Together?”  
“Together.” 

Humming, I lean in finally, not able to stop myself any longer. I hold your face carefully in my palms and I take your mouth in a kiss, molding our lips together until there is no telling us apart. You sigh against me, your eyes falling shut, and I cannot remember a single moment in the last two months when I have been happier. 

I pull away only when I start feeling lightheaded. I draw back gently, not going far, and let one of my hands fall to your lap, fingers closing around the hilt of the weapon still resting there.    
“The Great Moon and the Blind Sun,” I recall what the merchant said, quietly, my whisper almost getting lost in our mingling breaths. Your eyes widen in surprise.    
“Yes! I remember now, that is how the other king was called!” You exclaim, excited, and I look down at the dagger, prompting you to do the same. Slowly, I trace the carving of the moon, then turn it around, showing you the sun on the other side.    
_ “Oh!”  _

And there it is, that astonished little gasp that makes me want to drag you down and bury you between pillows and soft sheets. You truly have no idea how enticing you are when you get all excited about something, do you, my fair prince?

“They must have liked those kings very much,” I observe, before I can lose my wits. You nod eagerly, your fingers passing carefully over the decorated handle.    
“It is said that they ruled together for a long time and that all those years were very prosperous for the kingdom.”    
“The moon and the sun,” I say, unprompted, and it reminds me of us, of our rule - even if it is only I who has the title of the king officially. I would give it to you gladly, had it been possible… Surely you must know that by now? 

Or maybe not? Your sense of duty and your natural modesty keep you securely away from such thoughts… Trust me, love, one day I will put strands of noble mithril upon your brow and call you a king, you just wait and see. I think Gimli would be more than happy to fashion something worthy of you, decorated with wings like mine, but far more delicate. No jewels in it, I think, you don’t like them that much. I don’t blame you -  why would a jewel want to wear other jewels? Their beauty would be completely wasted in the face of your own radiance…

I must have been silent for too long, for you are picking up the dagger again. It fits your hand perfectly as you give it a twirl, then swish it through the air a few times. You change your grip and trace an elegant curve with the tip. The sun glimmers along the edge of the blade and my eyes follow it intently, before they are helplessly drawn to the way the muscles of your forearm flex when you bend your hand just so. The shirt’s sleeves are wide and one of them falls back to bunch at your elbow, and when you pause for a moment, appreciating the weapon silently, I dive forward and grab your wrist. There is a startled gasp that escapes you the moment my lips touch the inside of your elbow, and I smirk against your skin, kissing my way down, until I can nudge your fingers apart with my tongue. The dagger falls down on the covers next to my leg, and I know you will pick it up in a moment, scared of hurting me by accident. I don’t allow you to do that for now, though, kissing and licking all over your palm, drawing your fingers inside my mouth in a mockery of what my dreams have been filled with during the last few weeks. 

“Aragorn…” You whisper. Not knowing whether it is a plea or a warning, I pull away, just to see your eyes darkening and your mouth opening. I cannot stop myself from kissing you then, and I am dimly aware of your hands fisting in my hair and tugging on it, sending fire blazing through my veins. I shiver, lever myself up and get my knees under me, gaining leverage to pull you fully onto the bed. You go without protest, sighing happily when I keep on exploring your mouth with my tongue, my hands roving over the plains of your chest and stomach. You have gained some weight, and it pleases me to no end when I don’t feel ribs halting my fingers as they skim over your sides. You are still toned, that is true, but there is this delicate layer of softness that is so very welcome after your lengthy convalescence in the House of Healing. You looked so very thin back then, my dear! It is good to see you doing well finally! 

I pull back when my lungs start to burn, but I do not stop my hands in their travel - the shirt is of little importance now that I have its owner close, so I push it up impatiently, leaning in and darting my tongue out to taste you. So sweet, so warm you are! I chuckle when you wriggle underneath me, trying to pull that damned shirt over your head. You get stuck like this for a moment, arms trapped, and I cannot stop the giggle that bubbles up my throat. I smash my face into your abdomen, trying to stifle it, but soon, you’re laughing too.  Look at us, the steward and the king, two most powerful people in the whole realm, beaten by a piece of flimsy linen! 

It takes you another few heartbeats, but finally, you get rid of the shirt and toss it across the room. Idiris will need to pick it up later, when she comes in to water the plants and clean the chamber, and do you know why? It’s because I don’t plan on letting you out of this bed for another week. Definitely not when  you look at me with your eyes fiery with desire and your arms wrapping around me to pull me close.    
“I’ve missed you, dear heart,” I admit, looking down at you, taking in the wild sea of auburn hair pillowing your head. And you chuckle, not with ridiculity but with merriment, closing your eyes and tugging me in for another kiss. I go gladly, my hands migrating down your front, until they encounter the soft velvet of your leggings. I run my fingers along the waistband, just the tips of them, just to feel you shiver with anticipation, before I bring them forward and tug the lacing free. 

You help as much as you can, lifting your hips to let me pull them down, which I do, quickly, not keen on playing any games. It is not a good time for those, we both know. Later, when I stop feeling as if I’m going to die without you near me, when I no longer need to breathe the same air as if it held some ancient magic upon which my life depends, I will talk you into trying out something new. Maybe one of those things I heard my soldiers murmuring about around our campfire? They had a very intriguing story about stables, my dear. What would you say to that? We could give Brego quite a show… I don’t think he would mind. 

I smile as I ponder this, my own silliness making me shake my head. I have stalled in peeling the leggings off your legs, and I attempt to remedy that, tugging on them more forcefully until they come off. My hand slips, however, and lands to the side and I gasp when a sharp pain blooms in my palm. It forces me to pause my movements, the stinging sensation spreading between my fingers, and so, I sit back on my heels, bringing my left hand up. 

“Oh gods! What happened?!” You sound so alarmed, so  _ scared… _ I am instantly glad I didn’t take you with me to Harad. We may go there sometime, now that we have the peace treaty in place. But that last time, when I had been laid down by an arrow? I fear,  my gentle love , you would have been suffering far more than I could on that moth-eaten cot in the healer’s tent. 

I shake my head dismissively, though a hiss escapes through my teeth when you grasp my wrist and bring my injured hand up for closer inspection. There is a cut, about an inch long, running down the center of my palm.   
“‘Tis nothing,” I assure you, even though we both know that _nothing_ would not bleed like that. The red drops are already forming a small stream, spreading in the valley between my fingers, slowly flowing down to my wrist. You frown, disapprovingly, but even under that stern expression, I can see the affection you have towards me, and my heart melts a little.   
“It’s deep…” You observe, your voice barely a whisper it has gone so weak. You glance to the side, your eyes misting over suspiciously when you spot the dagger lying innocently on the covers, and I will not have that. 

I reach out with my uninjured hand, slip my fingers into your hair and tug you close for a searing kiss, trying to distract you from what has just happened. I can feel the warmth flowing down my wrist, and I curse the way people are made, because I know you will inevitably get up and find something to tie that cut with. 

A moment later, and you do just that, drawing away and standing up, gloriously naked and unbothered by it, a delicious sight had it not been ruined by the circumstances. 

_ Now I curse my own stupidity.  _

While you are busy searching through your chest of drawers, I grab the dagger and put it on the bedside table, safely away from any of our limbs. A ridiculous thought strikes me -  _ at least we know it’s sufficiently sharp!  _ \- and I bite back a wild laughter that tries to get out. 

You are back soon, taking my hand between your warm palms, dabbing at the blood with a piece of cloth. It stings, and my fingers curl inwards reflexively. Please, love, do not hold that against me - I do enjoy you touching me, even if it hurts. You could take your finger and push it right into the cut, through my damned  _ palm, _ and I would still sit here without a whisper of protest! But my body cringes away, and -  _ oh! - _ when you lean down and press your mouth to the cut, lightning-quick, I cannot hold back my surprised gasp. Your lips are stained red when you pull away and I have to bite mine to restrain myself. I would have my way with you -  _ now  _ \- had it not been for the strip of linen you’re tying carefully around my hand… I would dive in and lick my blood right off your lips, let you taste it with my own tongue, push you down and ravish you until you couldn’t remember your title, your post or anything that wasn’t  _ me… _

And then I realize that your eyes are as wide as I suspect mine are, I see that your breath is coming out laboured, flaring your nostrils… And I don’t feel the need to stop myself any longer. I dive in, forgetting about anything and everything but  _ you. _

Positioning you in the right way is a brainless effort and my body seems to know what to do well on its own. I let my hands guide you, while I focus on your lips and your gaze, falling into both with such abandon my soldiers would be astonished - they had not seen a wilderness like this in the field since we had won the War of the Ring! 

You take it all in stride, however, molding into me and spreading your thighs invitingly, making my brain melt on the spot. I am barely conscious of what I’m doing when I open you up and make sure I will not hurt you. But you don’t look like you’re in pain, even if your forehead creases and your eyes fall tightly shut… You moan encouragingly, your arms around me pulling my body closer, and I am  _ helpless, _ following wherever you lead, slipping into you with an animal-like growl I would be embarrassed about under any normal circumstances.  But these are  _ not _ normal circumstances, for I have you, and every moment spent with you like this is magical, born in Valinor and somehow transferred into our realm, and I cherish it like a blind man would cherish seeing again. 

Oh, _how I love you!_ I mutter the words over and over again, pressing them into your skin and hoping they can somehow become immortal. You grasp at my shoulders, my arms, my _thighs,_ and it only fuels the fire raging inside me, prompting me to move faster, harder, to plough your heat and make you squirm underneath me. One would think you are suffering, for all those noises you make - please, _never stop!_ They are sweeter to me than the song of the birds announcing the oncoming spring, more precious than all the jewels that lie in the royal vaults. 

Sometimes I feel like an Orc next to you, uncouth and filthy, my mind filled with all the dirty secrets we share, bringing them up at the most inappropriate moments. I have new material to add to my library now, a fantastic novel written by your gasps and moans, by the sheen of sweat which forms on your forehead - one which I lick away feverishly, gripping your flesh desperately. 

I would die if you left me… I hope you know that. I have never felt as beaten down as when you were courting the White Lady of Rohan… I am happy -  _ perversely, darkly happy _ \- that nothing came out of it. It allowed me to have you all for myself, to kiss and hug you however, whenever I wanted. At times, I wish I could bite and claw my way inside you, make a nest between your ribs and live there forever. Damn Gondor, damn Valinor itself!  They could never know the pleasure of being with you, my love!

You are wordless now, your cries tapering off into a constant hum… I like that about you. I like how, when you give yourself to pleasure, you don’t need your precious wisdom and those old tomes. You just  _ are, _ whimpering and moaning, fisting the sheets underneath your hands until they rip apart at the seams, trashing underneath my body, a helpless but willing victim to the pleasure I can give you. You turn into an animal, just like me, and it is so liberating, I cannot help but rock my hips harder. 

It is over soon, your body falling back on the pillows, relaxed and sated.  _ Quiet. _ I like that, too, the way I can undo that massive brain of yours and make you  _ feel. _ Just feel. 

You gasp quietly when I pull out, and I want to wrap myself around you protectively, your state of undress evoking the wolf inside of me. I would hide you beneath heavy furs and soft sheets, create you a safe nest to spend your future in, but I know it’s not how life works. 

With a sigh I draw away, looking for a cloth I could use to clean us up. I am well aware of your distaste for being sticky, so I do not think you would mind me using your shirt to do the dirty job. 

As it turns out, you barely seem to notice, twitching only once when I run the soft, worn-out material over your most delicate parts, cleaning myself quickly afterwards. Time is scarce now when the king is back in the castle and, undoubtedly, people will come looking for us soon. I detest it - the prospect of spending eternity with you is a lot more appealing than another meeting with the tailor complaining about his daughter. She’s a wild one, that lass, and I ponder whether we could make a soldier out of her as I wait for you to blink your eyes open. 

You do so after a longer moment, looking at me blearily, a lazy smile stretching your lips. I kiss it off - or at least I try, for I fear that my only achievement is making it bigger. You chuckle quietly, happily, and I deepen the kiss slowly, hoping to drown in you and never have to come back out. 

It is much later when we finally emerge, our disheveled appearances quickly remedied by a few well-placed fingers and a couple of decisive tugs at the fabrics covering us once again.  The king and his steward -  _ the embodiment of propriety. _ It is a good thing that those high nobles cannot look into my mind, for they would all have a stroke.  We spend the whole day on meetings with them, stealing glances and letting our hands wander underneath the table, and I cannot wait to be with you again.

Is this madness, my dear steward? Is this some kind of a dragon sickness that eats me alive from the inside? I do not crave gold, I couldn’t care less about it… but,  had there been someone to take  _ you _ away, I would start another war without as much as a blink. I hope you know this. 

Aye, I reckon you do - I can see your secret smile, tiny and private, meant only for me, as you shuffle through the documents with your left hand, the fingers of your right being too busy to participate. They are wrapped around mine, squeezing them almost reassuringly, and I smile happily, focusing on the matter at hand. 

Tell me, where would this king be without his prince? You may not be the focus of their attention, rephrasing what I have said and trying to get through to them, but had you not been here, I would have no purpose at all! 

The moon and the sun, indeed…

  
  



End file.
